Carnivore
by Fairheartstrife
Summary: Supernatural AU FFVII. What if Hojo's experiments were darker-more sinister. What if monsters were indeed created? What if Cloud had been one of them? After years of isolation, what will happen when he and Tifa cross paths again. What secrets will be revealed? And is anyone truly what they seem to be? (Spun and expanded on from a ficlet I wrote years ago)


**_Carnivore_**

 _Chapter 1_

 _All my life they let me know  
How far I would not go  
But inside the beast still grows  
Chewing through the ropes_

* * *

He was hungry.

That was his first thought upon waking.

His following thought was immediate and no less uncomfortable; he was a monster.

A killer.

He hadn't always been one. He could remember a time-or at least fragments of memories- when he wasn't. In that fraction of a second, that split moment between sleep and wakefulness, he could lie to himself and attempt to deny what he had become. But eventually even that momentary falsehood faded and he was left with only the cold, harsh truth of what he was—and of what he would never be again.

With a resigned sigh, he pushed himself up from his bed. The temperature in the room was bitterly cold, matching his mood. Small flecks of ice floated in the air around him, catching the filtering moonlight like a shimmering halo and his mouth twisted into a sardonic smile at that. Halos were for angels, and he was as far from angelic as one could get.

Leisurely, he slipped into a pair of black pants and secured them at his hips with a slide of his custom belt. A dark sweater followed. He tightened the soft leather straps that crisscrossed against his back that would house his swords. Feeling another rumble in his stomach he snatched his coat, slipping the heavy leather over broad shoulders before he opened the doors of his third floor balcony.

His home, if one could call it that, was a very old Shin-Ra asylum, abandoned when the patients—all failed SOLDIERS, insane with Mako poisoning—rioted and killed nearly all the staff and each other. Most people steered well clear of the property due to the rampant ghost stories surrounding the building, and that suited his needs for seclusion just fine.

Resting his hands on the balcony rail, he leaned forward to inhale the night air. Cool, crisp, and clean, it smelled of the woodland. There was something about the scent that drug forward fragments of memories best left buried: Starry sky, promises, dark eyes and lilting laughter.

Nibelheim.

It had been just over ten years since he had last laid eyes on his hometown and yet it was one of the few things that he was able to recall with exquisite detail. He could remember the way the air would smell after a summer storm, the way the sunlight reflected off the snow capped mountain, even the way his shoes scuffed the dirt along the trails. His lips curved up and his tongue played with the tip of one tooth as he remembered, with a near savage anger, the way the townspeople had treated him. Like he was some vermin to be dealt with and dismissed.

All but one...He shook his head, dismissing the thought. He had best not dwell on those memories. It was never good when he thought about _her_ for any great length of time.

He forced his focus elsewhere, catching the scent of a fox on the wind. He watched the small creature emerge from the brush and dart across the field. It stopped abruptly, its head coming up sharply and swinging in his direction-one predator sensing another. He tipped his head, his own face impassive as he held the fox enthralled. "Go," he said finally, quietly, and the fox shuddered, leaping the remaining distance into deeper bushes.

He studied the black night, contemplating his options. He hadn't ventured away from the asylum in a long time-content to sleep and hunt only when needed, but he was growing increasingly restless. Perhaps it would be cathartic to purge himself of that godsforsaken village once and for all. He had wanted to belong and they had shunned him. They had called him weak. Mocked him for being pathetic.

If only they could see him now, he thought, fingers tightening and curling into the metal rail. The fact remained that there was nothing that could change what had happened or what now was, but that didn't mean that he would forget their scorn...or forgive it. With that in mind he leaped onto the rail and flung himself into the night.

Nibelheim had cast him aside, and in doing so had made him its enemy.

It was well past time to pay _home_ a visit.

* * *

 ****

 **Travel to the village did not take long-a matter of hours with his enhanced abilities-and when he emerged from the forest just outside the gate he realized that the village was nearly exactly as he remembered it to be. Most of the lights were out, only the street lanterns above the cobblestone walkways flickered against the pitch of night. His eyes, glowing faintly blue in the dark, strayed involuntarily to the well in the center of town and he took a startled step back.**

 **It was** ** _her._** ****

 **Tifa.**

Her name was sweet in his mind, but he dared not taste it on his tongue.

She was still there?

He had expected her to be long gone from this place and to see her sitting there, on the well...on _their_ well, surprised him—to say the very least.

Had she ever left? What was she doing out in the damp, cold hours after midnight?

He shifted, more shadow than man, to get a better view of her.

A soft sound escaped her as she tilted her face up into the waning moonlight, and he froze.

She was beautiful.

He had known she would be-had always known-but to see it...

Her skin held golden hues even in the shadows, with a dusting of pink on her cheeks and her nose was bordering on red from the chill. Her lips were wide, her hair dark, pulled into a ponytail, and longer than he recalled, but it was her eyes that captivated him. Even from his vantage point he could see their color. Crimson. The color of blood. He had nearly forgotten those eyes. Had purposefully tried to forget those eyes.

He felt his teeth against his bottom lip and tried to fight down his rising hunger.

At the well, Tifa straightened, her sanguine eyes darting into the shadows and he wondered if she could sense the danger she was in- much as the fox had earlier. A cold breeze ruffled the free strands of her hair, distracting her—winter always came fast in the mountains—and she tightened her fingers on the knit shawl around her shoulders and tugged at the skirt flapping around her calves. Her outfit wasn't meant to ward off the chill and soon she gave the sky one last longing look, before climbing to her feet with a sigh. The sound was melancholy and lonely.

In the shadows he straightened. Why was she so sad?

Tifa didn't bother with the ladder, but instead surprised him by vaulting from her perch to land delicately on the balls of her bare feet. Adjusting her shawl, she gave the shadows one more searching look before shaking her head and walking the cobbled path towards her house.

The same one she had grown up in.

He began trailing after her almost immediately before stopping with a quiet curse. Just like when he was a child, he thought with an angry snarl. Always trailing after her.

Fuck that. He wasn't that enamored little boy anymore.

He was a man, if not a monster of one, but a man all the same, and he wasn't going to follow her around like some lovesick puppy. Even as he thought it, he was moving forward-tethered to her in ways he refused to contemplate. He leaped up-silent as the night itself-and slipped across rooftops until he was across from her home-staring directly through the glass of her bedroom window.

Inside the small cottage it remained dark until Tifa flicked on her bedroom light with one hand, the other tossing her shawl into an old rocking chair. She puttered about the room for a few minutes, fluffing her pillows and pulling back her bed-covers, before selecting some clothing from her dresser. She vanished into an adjacent room before emerging several moments later wearing an oversized cotton shirt and some form of sleep shorts with her hair free of its loose ponytail. Yawning, she stretched her arms over her head-the fabric of her top pulling tight in ways that made Cloud's throat go dry.

"Tifa..."

Her arms immediately lowered and with wide eyes she whirled towards the window.

She couldn't see him, he knew that—blended as he was in shadows and with his own power keeping him cloaked—but it still startled him to have her approaching her bedroom window, and even more shocking was when she placed her palm to the pane, she whispered: "Cloud?"

Gods above, it had been so long since he'd heard his name—he'd almost forgotten he had one. And to hear it on her lips, so soft...so tender...

Surely, she should have forgotten him. He could not imagine why in Gaia's name she would be thinking of _him,_ and yet, he knew he had heard her correctly.

Tifa stared down at the street for several long moments before she gave a small shake of her head and stepped away from the window, hair falling to veil her face from his view and Cloud wanted to reach through the glass separating them and brush it back.

In the bedroom Tifa flopped back onto her mattress, her gaze locked on the ceiling. She was mouthing something, and even with his enhanced hearing he could not make out the words. Curious, he moved closer, his boots on the edge of the rooftop. She stopped speaking, but didn't close her eyes. Instead she stared up in silence, hands clasped together on her stomach.

Curious, Cloud crouched there on the roof, watching her. She was so still that if not for the steady rise and fall of her chest he would have worried. However, as the minutes ticked by, that steady rise and fall deepened, and eventually she closed her eyes, sleep claiming her. Murmuring a soft enchantment, Cloud jumped onto her balcony-or he would have if not thrown back by a thrum of power. He landed back on the opposite roof, a frown forming.

Barrier?

Odd...but not impenetrable. Although, he reasoned, he had no real idea of what he intended to do if he had access to her room-to her. He wasn't altogether certain it would be anything he cared to admit-even to himself. He should go. Leave this damned place and just forget about ever coming here-and about whatever misguided sense of revenge had brought him back. About her. She was not for him. This place was not his.

And yet...his feet refused to budge and his gaze rested heavily on her slumbering silhouette. If he could just...he didn't know. Talk to her? He doubted that would offer any form of closure-in fact, he was dead certain it would open up a whole new set of wounds-and yet he felt himself gathering his focus. He'd never really played with the psychic powers Hojo had sworn to help him perfect-if he let him live, an offer that Cloud still had no regrets in not taking-but he knew he possessed them.

He'd used them on occasion to influence people into going down the dark corridors of the asylum or into the woods when they normally wouldn't, but he'd never tried to insert himself—or his consciousness, at least—into anyone else's thoughts. After a few long minutes of concentrating, he felt the very air around him still and every sound was magnified until he could hear the pulse of blood beneath her skin.

In her bed, Tifa stirred, her lips tightening. Her fingers curled into her quilt. "No," she whispered, resisting his attempts to push forward. He tried harder, his own hands fisting. He was met with a wall of resistance.

Cloud shifted methods, from force to cajoling...luring her trust. "Open for me, Tifa."

Tifa rolled to her side, let out a shaky exhale. "Cloud?"

And as she said it, he felt it...against his lips, as though he was in the room with her.

"I'm here," he whispered to her.

"You're not," she said, her brow furrowing, fingers flexing.

"I am," he replied simply, allowing the truth of it to enter his thoughts.

In her bed Tifa trembled. "Why are you here?"

Cloud wasn't sure how to answer that one exactly.

"I waited for you," she whispered, even though he hadn't answered, bringing his focus back to her. "You never came."

That was...unexpected. And for a moment his concentration wavered.

She moved restlessly, her legs pushing at the blankets."Cloud. Don't go!"

He focused his thoughts onto her, pushed a silent command for her to relax into their connection.

She sighed, relaxing. "Stay," she murmured, voice heavy and dreamy. Her head fell back against her pillow, the column of her throat revealed to his hungry gaze. "Please."

"I won't."

"Are you real?" She moaned, arched on the bed. She was fighting his link, trying to wake up. "Feels like...dreaming..."

Across from her, on the roof, Cloud pressed his tongue to his teeth-let the pain sharpen his concentration. "Then dream of me, Tifa." He pushed farther into her mind, asserting himself. He felt her awareness slip and he pressed the advantage.

"Cloud…" his name was a breathless gasp. "I can't...wait…"

"Shh," he soothed. "It's all right. I'm here. Trust me."

In her bed, Tifa went suddenly still and Cloud felt as though he was tumbling through the air in a dangerous freefall. She'd let down all of her mental barriers and he was plunging headlong-too fast and too deep into her mind-catching her fragmented memories and emotions as he went.

He saw himself as a child-lanky with scuffed knees and a bloody lip. He saw himself walking away, his shoulders stiff, his posture angry. He felt an ache-sharp, piercing-and recognized it as one of sympathy...of loneliness...and it wasn't his. Tifa. He was feeling what she had felt back then and damn…it hurt. So much.

Other memories spun around him-slamming into his own mind with all the subtlety of a freight train. They were on Mt. Nibel, and she was falling, her hand reaching for his…. a scream in her throat...

Falling...falling... _Mama_ …!

Cloud. Save me?

Alone in a bedroom, water and pills on the nightstand, her father's angry voice at the door...

Cloud. Why won't you visit me?

The well. Stars and hopes-so much hope-and sadness. _Don't go._

Cloud. Miss me?

Cloud. Forgive me.

Please. Please forgive me, forgive me, _forgive-_

"Tifa…" he didn't know how he managed to get her name past his tight throat. There was so much pain, he wasn't sure how anyone could withstand it. "Stop."

The memories swirled, darkened. Fire. _Fire all around. Fire on my flesh…Daddy!_

 _Monster!_ Sword to skin.

 _Dying._

 _I'm dying._

"No!" He jerked back, severing their connection, dropping sharply to his knees. He took in ragged gulps of air, despite not needing to breathe, trying his best to orient himself. The cold air picked up, dead leaves rustled and in the distance a wolf howled.

Eventually the world stopped spinning and Cloud was able to lift his head. Across the way Tifa was sitting up in her bed, her hands covering her face-her shoulders shuddering with the force of her silent sobs.

Seeing her suffer made Cloud feel more like a monster than anything else had in the past decade. He wanted to comfort her. To knock on that damn door and take her into his arms and take away all of that pain he had felt.

So much of it.

So much of it about _him_.

He hadn't known...he still didn't really _know…_ but he had been in her head-whatever else in his life that had been false and fleeting, one thing was undeniably true. Tifa Lockhart had cared for him. The knowledge of it lifted something in him-made him feel lighter-worthy...

"Damn," he growled. He was a monster and the foolish dreams she threatened to stir to life in him were dangerous. He rose to his feet. He'd be back. As much as he tried to deny it, he knew he'd be back. But for now he needed some distance between them. Hunger was still gnawing at him and he could feel the press of sunrise. With more reluctance than he cared to admit, Cloud took off into the night.

* * *

 ****

 **Well past dawn, with sunlight streaming in her bedroom, Tifa was still upright in her bed. She had stopped crying hours ago, but sleep had not returned to her. It had been years since she had a nightmare of that magnitude, and the lingering after effects made her want to curl beneath the covers and hide from the world. But that wasn't who she was. So she placed a hand against the ache in her heart and resolutely pushed it down.**

The sun was up, the village was waking, and she had a promise to keep. "No more dilly dallying," she told herself. If Barrett's information was correct, she was about to get some answers. Finally.

Perhaps it was that knowledge that prompted the dreams. Cloud was a familiar face to her dreams-but last night...his voice. She shook herself. Not the time. If all went well, she would have a productive morning and leave Nibelheim behind her by afternoon.

She was in the kitchen, preparing her breakfast when the screaming started.


End file.
